


The Crow Bar

by London_Halcyon



Category: RWBY
Genre: Drunk Qrow Branwen, Fall of Beacon (RWBY), Gen, Volume 3 (RWBY)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2020-02-07 11:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18619762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/London_Halcyon/pseuds/London_Halcyon
Summary: A drunken text from Qrow sends Glynda on a trip into Vale to hunt for her coworkers...with interesting results. Takes place during the Vital Festival Tournament.





	1. Text From a Crow

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [20 Lien to the Alcohol Enthusiast (Qrow and Glynda)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/476866) by Cassie, Mya, and Brandon. 



"Which one did you want me to copy again?"

Glynda looked up from her Scroll to see Rosemary holding up a folder in each hand, an apologetic look on her face. The girl's glasses had slipped down to the tip of her nose.

"Both of them," Glynda responded.

"Right. Sorry." Rosemary adjusted her glasses and carried the folders to the opposite side of the room. Glynda observed her progress thoughtfully. The girl was moving slowly tonight. She was tired but attempting to work through it; there was no doubt about the reason why. Still...

Glynda glanced out the window nearest to her chair. Night was full and black over Beacon, the sun having set several hours before. She glanced at her wristwatch and felt a faint sensation of surprise. It was later than she had thought. Well, that decided it then.

"It's after curfew," she said. "Finish those and then return to your dorm. Straight to bed. No detours."

Rosemary looked back up from her work. Sure enough, protest was written across her face, but she didn't argue. Glynda had left no room for that.

"Did you hear me?" she asked anyway.

Reluctantly, the girl met her eyes, her young face stony. "Yes, ma'am," she responded stiffly.

"Good," Glynda said, returning to her Scroll.

Her hunch had been right, as unfortunate as that was. It was true she felt sorry for the young Huntress, but that didn't mean she was going to go easy on her. Qrow could call her a hard-ass all he wanted; she wasn't going to let the girl run herself ragged trying to escape from everything.

Glynda's Scroll abruptly buzzed in her hands, indicating a new message. Speaking of Qrow... Tapping the envelope icon in the corner of her screen, she brought up the message.

- _Guess who owes the alcohol enthusiast L20_

She frowned at the words. As far as she could recall, nothing had occurred that would've put her in Qrow Branwen's debt.

- _I don't owe you anything_

Responding had probably been a mistake. The speed at which he texted back indicated that he had been counting on a reaction. There was a good chance she wasn't going to like this conversation.

- _I won our bet Glynda. Got good old Jimmy to go to bar with me_

What? He had to have been joking, or maybe she had misunderstood. Surely he wasn't talking about Ironwood.

- _That is utterly impossible_

The other day, Qrow had made several jabs at her stiff demeanor, using quite a few words and terms she would never repeat in front of her students. It had resulted in an argument that unfortunately had become a struggle for her to win and, frankly, had turned into a situation she wasn't comfortable with. To save herself from having to demonstrate just how exactly she could have fun, she'd redirected Qrow's focus to the topic of the general. Just to get a few good hits in of her own, she'd told the alcoholic alumnus that he wouldn't catch James under the table at some slovenly hovel, to which he'd responded that he would bet 20 Lien that he could get the head of Atlas into a bar with him. Glynda had scoffed that she would like to see that, and that had been the end of it.

Or so she had thought. She hadn't actually been serious.

The Scroll buzzed again.

- _Whoops better give half that lien to tin man. Said you wouldn't believe a single drunk word of my mouth_

She stared at her screen in disbelief, not trusting him.

- _You're drunk, aren't you?_

- _Not enough to hallucinate today historic day_

By the gods, he was serious. How on Remnant had he pulled that off? James was always concerned about keeping up appearances, especially in the eyes of the public. He wouldn't be caught dead in some shady bar—and certainly not with Qrow.

- _I suppose you want me to ask you how you did it, so you can then provide some cryptic response that will make me beg for details. Is that the plan?_

- _Sound good_

- _No_

She set her Scroll down flat on her desk and put her fingers to her temples. Dear gods, the world had turned mad.

Rosemary glanced her direction. "What's that face?" the girl asked, her tone holding half curiosity and half amusement.

Glynda could only shake her head. "Qrow."

Understanding flashed across Rosemary's features. She had spent more than enough time in the Huntsman's company to know what his name meant. "Oh? What's he up to?"

"Hell."

Rosemary chuckled. "Well, that's not up, but that does sound like Qrow."

Glynda didn't give the poor joke the reward of a laugh, though she couldn't help but give a small smile. "Are you not done yet?"

Rosemary made a small hum in her throat as confirmation. "The machine doesn't want to cooperate. I had to reboot it. I'm serious!" she added in response to the look on Glynda's face.

"You're lucky," Glynda warned her.

"No, trust me, I don't enjoy your company that much."

"Smart-ass."

The girl shot her a mischievous grin, clearly taking it as a compliment.

The desk made a buzzing noise as the Scroll vibrated against its surface. Glynda warily picked the black tablet back up.

- _Hiwd you do it arrow? What your secrecy? Why I'll tell hold_

Then, a few seconds later:

- _damn autocorrect_

Right, like autocorrect was the problem.

- _You're acting childish_

- _That's what ice queen said_

- _Fine, I'll bite. How?_

- _I have my ways_

- _You're not getting L20_

- _I asked if he wanted a drink with best buddy Qrow_

- _That is not even a convincing lie_

- _might've also mad crack about him having a stick up his asx_

"Oh, crap," Glynda softly swore.

Rosemary's eyes flicked up from the papers she had been sorting, alert but not yet concerned. "Everything alright?"

"At the moment," she said calmly.

Glynda was less concerned about the single quip than she was about the cracks that were likely to take place throughout the night. The obnoxious crow had attacked Ironwood's ego, something the Atlasian general would not take kindly. Two headstrong men and lots of liquor made for a dangerous combination, so it was all too possible that one would try to drink the other under the table before the night was over. This would not end well.

Another message appeared.

- _the handover will be worth it_

- _Not when I kick both your asses for being horrible examples for the students_

- _got to go. Drinking the cyborgs und tinge table_

- _Where are you?_

There was no reply. No, this was not good at all. Glynda waited no more than a minute before she dialed his number. It rang several times with no answer. She tried again. This time, the Scroll didn't even ring; he had turned it off.

"That bastard!" she spat, shooting to her feet.

"Glynda?!" Rosemary exclaimed in alarm.

Realizing her mistake, Glynda quickly composed herself as best she could. With slow, deliberate movements, she collected her small Scroll and a handful of Lien, as well as double checked the strap that attached her riding crop to her boot. "Rosie," she said, struggling to keep her voice level, "could you please finish up here? I need to go take care of something."

Rosemary's face had rearranged itself to show a mixture of surprise and concern. "Of course. Can I ask where you're going?"

"I have no idea," Glynda said honestly. "I'll try not to stay out too long, but I still don't want to see you here when I get back. If you get tired, just go to bed. I can deal with the rest."

"Alright. Good luck."

It took an effort not to scoff. She was going to need it, considering who she was going to attempt to track down.

She made for the door. "You better not be here when I get back!" she called without looking behind her.

"Alright!" came the reply. She didn't need to turn around to see the eye roll.

It wasn't until after she had closed the door behind her that she muttered, "I'm going to kill him."

 


	2. An Unexpected Lead

Glynda's heels clicked on the courtyard pavement. There was a ship at the docks waiting to take her to the city, but she had no plan beyond that. She hated having to go on a Hunt without any information, especially in the middle of the night. No, what she hated was having to go on a Hunt for her drunken coworkers in the middle of the night with the entire kingdom of Vale as her starting place. What was she supposed to do—search every known and (knowing Qrow) unknown bar in the city?

Well, if she had to, then she would. This was not just about her being anal and overbearing. This wasn't even just about public image. This was about the security of the kingdom and of Remnant. Two of Ozpin's agents—one of them being a military leader and a headmaster—did not just go to a _public_ bar together to have a drinking contest. They might as well go to Salem directly and tell her where the Maidens and Relics are hidden. That would save her some time.

What the hell were they thinking?

She dialed Qrow's number again and, when that didn't work, then James's. Still no answer from either of them. She shot a text to James:

- _Call when you get this_

Then two to Qrow:

- _You know that I can tear apart that bar brick by brick?_

- _You're a dead man Branwen_

She finally pocketed her Scroll with a sigh. It was useless to keep trying. Nothing was ever going to be easy. She would just have to head into Vale and figure it out from there.

_I swear, if Qrow sticks magnets to James again..._

Voices rang clearly from up ahead on the main avenue, causing Glynda to slow her pace as she hesitated to listen. A shrill complaint rose above the rest.

"Ow! Ruby! You stepped on my foot!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Keep your distance from me. My Aura hasn't completely regenerated yet, and you're still a hazard to my health."

"I said I was sorry!"

"Geez, Weiss, you're in an icy mood."

"Ugh, really, Yang? More Ice Queen jokes?"

Glynda didn't bother to use her Aura to pinpoint the girls; she spotted them instantly. Ruby Rose and Weiss Schnee came into view first as they stood in the center of the path, and Yang Xiao Long lounged on a bench next to them. Glynda almost didn't spot Blake Belladonna in the darkness, and she likely wouldn't have had the black-clothed girl not been sitting next to the bright Yang.

_Those girls... They're going to wake the entire school._

It was Blake that spoke next. "She's just upset that one of her dresses is ruined."

"Combat skirt!" Weiss snapped. "And of course I'm not upset about that! What a silly thing to make a fuss over!"

"Aw, cheer up, Weiss!" Yang encouraged. "We won!"

"Yeah!" Ruby cheered, enthusiastically pumping her fist into the air. "Team RWBY is going to the Finals!"

The other girls cheered and whooped with varying levels of excitement.

"Team RWBY!" Glynda shouted, making her presence known.

Four pairs of wide eyes—silver, blue, lilac, and yellow—all whirled in her direction, revealing matching expressions of surprise and panic. "Professor Goodwitch!" came the collective exclamation. With an uncertain exchange of glances, they quietly waited for her to approach.

Stopping in front of them, she crossed her arms and looked down on each of them with a stern expression. "The semester may be over, girls, but there is still a curfew in place. A curfew that passed by over an hour ago if I'm not mistaken."

Four sets of eyes lowered and four different voices murmured in response.

"Apologies."

"We're sorry, Professor."

"We lost track of time."

"Are we in trouble?"

Their abrupt deflation prompted Glynda to relax her posture a fraction. She was too tired to deal with this right now. Besides, it was a time of celebration. Thanks to Team RWBY and Team JNPR, Beacon had made it to the Vital Festival Tournament Finals. It was alright if they enjoyed their victory for a little while longer, especially since there was no telling what was going to happen next.

It was too soon. They weren't ready. No one was.

She sighed tiredly. "Not tonight."

The girls exchanged questioning glances.

She adjusted her glasses, composing herself in the process. "Miss Xiao Long, Miss Schnee, congratulations on winning your fight today."

Their excited looks returned...

"I won't comment on the complete recklessness, lack of preparedness, and predictability of your tournament matches," she continued.

...and then fell.

"But I will say you've done well. All of you."

Her words were met with four grateful smiles.

"Thank you, Professor!"

"We'll do our best to represent Beacon."

"We'll make you proud!"

"Yeah! You can count on Team RWBY!"

She couldn't quite keep a pleased smile of her own off her lips. "Keep it up. You may return to your dorm."

The girls nodded cheerfully and began to walk back towards the school.

At a sudden thought, Glynda abruptly added, "Except for you, Miss Xiao Long. And you, Miss Rose. I need a quick word."

All of them hesitated uncertainly, but at a silent indication by Yang and Ruby, Weiss and Blake continued on without them. The sisters shifted their positions uncomfortably, clearly wishing to follow their teammates.

"What's up, Professor?" Yang asked.

"I am looking for your uncle," Glynda said. "I don't suppose you would know where he is?"

"You're looking for Uncle Qrow?" Ruby asked in surprise.

"We haven't seen him since earlier today," Yang said. "I can give you his number—"

Glynda held up a hand. "No, that's alright. I have it."

"Uh oh," Ruby said, looking half concerned and half amused. "Is Uncle Qrow in trouble again?"

_Again?_ Glynda wondered just how much influence the former bandit had on raising the two girls. Probably too much for their own good. She felt slightly bad for Taiyang, although there were some that would disagree with his parenting methods as well. She was just glad that his daughters had their more levelheaded teammates to keep them straight. Another Team STRQ would be beyond too much to handle.

"That remains to be seen," she responded.

"Hm," Ruby thought for a moment, "I'm afraid I don't know where he is. He never tells us where he goes."

Glynda gave Yang a knowing look. "Miss Xiao Long?"

Yang grinned. "Qrow doesn't like us to know where he goes, so that's why you may or may not find him at one of a few places around Vale."

"What?" Ruby spun to face her sister. "Yang!"

Glynda simply nodded for the "party girl" to continue.

"Well," the blond said, "there are some 'respectable' places that'll stay open a little longer for him. If he hasn't gotten kicked out of them yet."

"Such as?"

"There's The Crow Bar for one. And...uh, it might be better if I send you a list."

"And the other establishments?"

Yang's grin faded to be replaced with indecision. Like Glynda didn't already know what the girl got up to. And where she got up to it.

Glynda sank onto one hip. "It is after curfew, _Yang._ "

After a flash of surprise, the smile quickly returned. "I'll send you that list."

Ruby rolled her eyes at her older sister.

"I'd appreciate it if you could please send that to my Scroll as soon as possible," Glynda said. "And do not even think of attempting to bargain with me, Miss Xiao Long. I am asking you to do your job as a Huntress by helping me with mine."

The girl's quickly constructed facade of amusement just barely covered her startled and slightly sheepish expression. "Of course. I was just thinking that I should catch you after curfew more often, Professor."

Glynda nearly snorted. "Don't count on it."

Ruby's eyes were round with concern. "Should we be worried? Is Uncle Qrow alright?"

After a heartbeat, Glynda straightened and allowed her demeanor to soften for a few seconds. "As far as I know, your uncle is fine. But you know that he has a tendency to push buttons. I'm going to make sure that he hasn't pushed the wrong ones." _That, and he's not the one I'm worried about._

A thought clearly struck the young Rose. "Do you know Uncle Qrow well?" she asked. Yang, based on her expression, had been getting ready to ask the same thing.

Glynda did her best not to hesitate before answering. She didn't think she completely succeeded. "I know all Huntsmen in Vale to some degree. Your uncle, being a Beacon alumnus and an old friend of Professor Ozpin, comes around more often than not." It was at times like these that she found herself wishing not.

"That's funny," Ruby said intelligently, "Uncle Qrow said the same thing earlier today."

"Go to bed, girls," Glynda ordered, tired of the delicacy of the conversation. "I need to get to work."

"Goodnight, Professor," Yang said, about to turn away.

"I'll be waiting on that list, Miss Xiao Long." Yang nodded, and Glynda thought she saw a glimpse of a grimace.

"It was nice talking to you, Professor!" Ruby said cheerfully, and the girl followed her sister towards the dorms with a bounce in her step.

When they were both out of sight and earshot, Glynda sighed. "Goodnight, Ruby."

 


	3. The Crow Bar

Glynda's Scroll received Yang's list as her airship was taking off. It was even longer than she had expected. She massaged her temples again, imagining she could feel a migraine coming on. This could take all night. And what if Qrow was messing with her? Then she would most definitely kill him. Slowly. This was not something to joke about.

To some relief, she found that she could cross a number of the establishments off. James's standards were high—although they were abnormally low tonight if he was out with Qrow. Still, there were too many left.

She sighed. Better to just start with the closest one and go from there. Walking to the front of the ship, she told the pilot to take her in the direction of The Crow Bar, nearly scowling at the name as she did so. It was an awful joke. And way too fitting.

As it turns out, it was indeed fitting. And unusually lucky, which was not something she associated with crows.

The place was small, really nothing more than a bar counter and a couple of stools set at the side of the boardwalk. It was clean at least, and the bartender was likable. That combined with its view of the water was what she supposed added to its charm.

It was less charming tonight. People crowded inside the bar and out in revelry as repeats of the Tournament matches played on the television behind the counter. Tables and chairs had been set up to handle the overflow, and it was at one table, tucked in the corner of the building, that she found what she was looking for. And more unfortunately.

 _Unbelievable._ The world had gone mad.

James and Qrow sat at the table with drinks in hand. They were laughing _with_ each other. And two more people laughed with them—a portly man and a royal mess that were none other than Peter Port and Bartholomew Oobleck. The head of the Atlas Academy and military, one of Ozpin's Huntsmen, and two of her teachers were in a bar together. It sounded like the setup for a bad joke. Except she was the only one not laughing.

Maybe she was overreacting. They were grown men; they could drink responsibly.

"My word!" she heard Peter exclaim as she pushed through the crowd towards their table.

"You're making that up," Qrow laughed. "You honestly expect me to believe you would say something like that?"

James chuckled, "I can assure you it's the truth. And that's not even the worst part."

"Dreadful!" Bartholomew laughed. "Simply dreadful! I can only begin to imagine how she responded."

"About as well as you would expect." James glanced up in time to catch sight of her approach, and he gave her a charming smile. "Ah, speak of the devil!" They had been talking about her. First sign of trouble.

"Glynda!" Bartholomew greeted cheerfully. "What a pleasant surprise to find you here! Care to join us?"

"Yes, indeed! Pull up a chair!" Peter invited.

"No," she said bluntly, looking at Qrow as she did so. He pretended not to notice. Her gaze swept the table. Numerous empty glasses littered its center while a tall glass full of a deep amber liquid sat in front of each of the four men—even her professors. Their flushed faces indicated that Peter and Bartholomew had actively participated in the drinking. Second sign of trouble. They all knew about the looming threat, and the two teachers knew better than to drink so much when they might be called into duty at any moment. "Just what do you think—"

Qrow cut her off, slurring his words as he did so, "Sh sh shh. I want to hear this." Third sign of trouble.

She glared at him, but before she could retort, Bartholomew addressed James eagerly, "Why, yes, General! Please do continue!"

She looked at James, who looked back at her with a half smile on his face. He didn't appear drunk. Perhaps she had underestimated him.

Leaning in, he lowered his voice so that only they could hear him. "She said, and I quote, 'What would I want with your half-metal dick?'"

The table erupted into laughter while she stood in momentarily stunned silence.

"Dreadful!" Bartholomew repeated.

"You really are a hard-ass, Glynda," Qrow snorted. "Talk about hitting below the belt!"

"How vicious!" Peter added.

"Savage as a Beowolf that one," James chuckled, jerking his chin at her. "But that's not always a bad thing." He winked, and all the men guffawed.

She was far beyond not amused. She was even beyond furious. He had told _that_ story. Someone was going to pay, and it wasn't only going to be Qrow. "You four need to clear out. Now," she hissed.

"Is something the matter?" Peter asked in mild concern.

"Yes," she growled. "We're on high alert, and you're sitting here having a drinking contest."

Qrow shrugged. "Nothing new about that."

"Not for you." She wasn't concerned about the Huntsman. He had miraculously mastered the ability to fight exceptionally even when he was so smashed he could barely walk. His arrival at Beacon a few days ago had been marked by a drunken brawl with Atlas Military Specialist Winter Schnee, and despite the fact that he had only toyed with her, she had been outmatched. "And you're not the one I'm here for, although rest assured that we will be having a talk about this."

"I'm quaking in my boots," he scoffed.

She ignored him and rounded on her colleagues. "But you two, you should know better."

Neither appeared chastised. "Relax, Glynda," Peter told her. "It's a time of celebration! There's no harm in enjoying a victory every once in a while."

"Yes, yes," Bartholomew agreed. "Two teams of our very own students have made it to the Finals! And largely because of your training I might add! You should be enjoying this victory most of all!"

"There is always harm in letting your guard down."

James shook his head. "We're not letting our guards down," he said placatingly. "Many of our enemies are behind bars, and nearly half of my fleet is providing security for the festival and the kingdom." He leaned back in his chair. "Listen to your colleagues. It is alright to relax for a short while. You'll burn yourself out otherwise."

She was getting really tired of people telling her what she should be doing. She stared at him coldly. "And you, I expected so much more from the great General Ironwood. I had sincerely thought Qrow was weaving some elaborate tale when he told me you were here. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be true."

He looked amused. "You make it sound like I was caught in a brothel."

"You're drunk!" she snapped, drawing a few outside glances in her direction. She lowered her voice again. "The man I knew would never have stooped so low so publicly."

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees as his face hardened. "The man you knew? Last I checked, it's been quite a while since you've known me, Glynda."

Speaking of blows below the belt... "Oh, don't you dare play that card."

Qrow held his hands up in the "don't shoot" position. "Okay, we got it," he said warily. "Don't poke a sleeping Ursa. Now can we all get back to our drinks?"

"No," she said icily. "I think you've had quite enough."

"I wasn't asking you," was his slurred retort.

"My dear professor, whatever is the matter?" Peter asked her. "I don't understand how you can find fault with a little bit of fun. Why, it's not as if we decided to shout all our secrets from the rooftops!"

The temperature of the room changed again, and for the first time that evening, Qrow straightened soberly. "On second thought, you may be right," he said slowly. "This conversation has become too...personal for such a public space."

Bartholomew adjusted his glasses, as if he was just now seeing clearly. "Yes, I agree."

Finally, now they were beginning to see some sense. She almost sighed in relief.

But the table clearly wasn't happy about it. "It would appear it has become that way," James said flatly with a pointed look at Glynda. "Now."

With an icy silence, the men threw down some Lien on the table and stood up with varying degrees of steadiness. She seized James's arm the moment he stumbled and escorted him out onto the boardwalk. To any onlookers, they would look like old friends or even lovers, but in reality... "Yeah, that's me, the buzzkill," she hissed in his ear.

"And in this case, the instigator," he growled back. His boots clunked awkwardly on the wood, and he leaned more heavily upon her than it appeared.

"Why, Pete, I do believe the world is moving!" she heard Bartholomew exclaim from behind her. She glanced back to see him clinging to Peter, with the latter appearing as equally steady. Qrow trailed behind with his staggering swagger.

She turned back to James, anger continuing to boil inside of her. "What exactly do you think you're implying?"

"Until you showed up making a big fuss, we had not drawn any excessive attention to ourselves and our conversations had not hinted at anything confidential. If your intention was to be discreet, then you failed miserably at it."

Her anger was at a rolling boil now, half because a small part of her knew that he had a point, but she would never admit it. "The conversation I walked in on was hardly nonconfidential. And you don't need my help to look like a fool." They were a little ways from the crowded bar, so she released his arm. He immediately stumbled, nearly falling over, but unfortunately remained standing.

Qrow swaggered over. "If that would be all," he snarked, "Your Majesty" being implied in his scathing tone, "I'm callin' it a night."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You didn't drive here, did you?"

He snorted. "Please. You know I have better ways to get around."

"Then don't smash your head into a window. I want you alive and conscious when we talk tomorrow."

"It's so sweet when you care."

" _Goodnight,_ Qrow."

With a chuckle and an exchange of farewells with his party, the drunken crow staggered off. _I hope he has a splitting headache tomorrow,_ she thought darkly, imagining him feeling the pain of her usual migraines. Yes, she was indeed that mad. And also baffled. How on Remnant had he been a teacher? It was a terrifying notion.

"I do say we should head home as well," Bartholomew said.

"Yes, we can make it on our own from here," Peter agreed. Both men were swaying on their feet. Speaking of terrifying notions...

"You will do nothing of the sort!" she exclaimed, unable to keep a hint of alarm out of her voice. "There is an airship waiting at the docks a short distance from here. We will all go. Together." _Dear gods, please let us make it there without an incident._

"Very well."

Crossing the "short distance" proved to be more challenging and time-consuming than she had expected. As much as he protested, she had to support James again, for he failed to prove that he could walk a straight line on his own. On her other side, she had to hold onto Peter before he could lead Bartholomew into the water, as he nearly did a few times. Their progress was slow and awkward. She was glad that most people appeared to be staying inside that night, for the ones that were out and about gave their clumsy line curious glances. She pretended not to notice, as if this was perfectly normal. Her dignity had been wounded enough that night.

"I see how it is," James whispered to her. "You were never afraid of what we would say. You were afraid of what _I_ would say about _you._ "

"You're talking nonsense," she snapped.

"That's rather petty, Glynda. To pass off your intentions as in the world's best interest, when you're really only concerned about your own image."

"I won't listen to this." He was drunk. He didn't know what he was saying. Arguing with him would be futile.

"You never do."

Oh, now that...! "You're the one to talk," she growled, struggling to keep her voice low. "You're the one that turned your back on the rest of us! But I suppose we never had that long conversation about trust. Oh, wait..."

"It's you that should be listening to me. Following Oz will get you nowhere—"

"That's enough!" They were at the ramp to the ship now, and she shoved the men ahead of her. "Everyone onboard now!"

They tripped up the ramp while she stalked up behind them, and the door closed behind her with a thud and a hiss. As the men fell into seats, she ordered the pilot to return to Beacon before choosing a seat of her own—as far away from her companions as possible. Almost certain she could feel a migraine coming on, she nearly put her head in her hands. She wanted to be done with this—to go to bed and forget that anything had ever happened. Maybe James was right. Maybe she had made things worse by tracking them down.

No, she was not in the wrong in this situation. Not completely at least.

 


	4. Bloodshed

Even though it was only across the sound and even though she didn't have to drag her drunken coworkers the distance, the flight still stretched to a second short of an eternity. She sat in stiff silence while Bartholomew and Peter laughed giddily at some incomprehensible joke or statement. James somehow still managed to sit in a composed and authoritative position, but he did crack a small smile at their intoxicated antics. The thud of the landing gear and the clunking of the boarding ramp marked the end of their passage through time, but whether they went forward or backward she couldn't tell.

Almost immediately upon setting foot off the ship, she wished it was possible for it to drop them closer to the doors of the school. The courtyard had never looked so expansive before. Returning to her original position of keeping one hand on James and the other on Peter, she started them on the struggle toward Beacon. Each step was difficult for them, so each step became difficult to her. Each time one of the men stumbled, she would be pulled a little off balance and the others would be pulled off with her. She found herself constantly fighting to keep them all upright.

It was like wrestling with three Ursai at once while walking. Not that she had ever wrestled an Ursa before—hand-to-hand combat had never been her strong suit—but she imagined that this is what it's like. She was tempted to grab her riding crop and make them levitate all the way back to Beacon, but that would break her stigma against using her Semblance on living beings. That and it made her squeamish.

Ten minutes and burning muscles later, she managed to drag the men through the entrance to the school grounds after what should've been a two minute walk. Sweat beaded on her back beneath her cape, and she was nearly panting with the effort. Lifting twenty tables simultaneously didn't take this much energy. She needed to get back into her sparring sessions with Emily if she was becoming this soft.

On the bright side, curfew meant that no students would be wandering the grounds this late. She could get her coworkers to their apartments without drawing any attention to themselves.

At least that's what she thought until Bartholomew and Peter started singing. They belted out the off key lyrics of a love song, giggling all the way:

 

Whenever I think of yooouu,

And how I wish you only kneeeww,

That you might be my dream come truuuueee!

But what do I have to do to make you my baby?

 

They unsteadily swayed back and forth to their own beat, clinging to each other and nearly pulling her and James over. Her glasses slipped down her nose, and she could not free a hand to adjust them.

"Will you knock it off?" she exclaimed irately. Their grating, drunken voices echoed off the buildings and would soon draw the attention of the entire school if they didn't shut up. They began to hum quietly instead, although she wasn't sure if they were obeying her or if they had just forgotten the rest of the words. How was she supposed to explain this to Ozpin and the students if they got caught. Scratch that, Ozpin probably already knew. But it would generate a very bad image for Beacon if the exchange students saw the drunk teachers, not to mention what would happen to James's reputation. There was nothing good about this situation, and she was starting to lose her resolve.

Then something caught her eye: a green and brown figure sneaking in the direction of the second-year dorm building. Relief, annoyance, and self-disgust hit her all at once—relief that her prayers had been answered, annoyance that her orders had been disobeyed, and self-disgust that she would be caught in such a situation after all. These emotions all rolled into one word, " _Rosemary!_ "

The girl froze with a gasp and vanished from sight. She hadn't moved and hadn't run away; she had simply vanished into thin air. An instinctual reaction most likely, but more than a little annoying at that moment.

"Get over here!" Glynda ordered.

Rosemary reappeared with a sheepish expression on her face and reluctantly yet swiftly walked over. "Sorry, Professor, you scared me!" she apologized rapidly. "I swear I was heading straight back to my dorm. You came back a lot sooner than—"

"Forget about that." _And help me!_ "I need your assistance."

The girl blinked a few times in confusion, her sharp eyes now darting to take in the scene of the men on Glynda's arms, and what she saw clearly added to her wariness.

"Good evening, Rosemary," James said politely, standing up straight enough to disguise exactly how much he was leaning on Glynda.

"General Ironwood." Rosemary gave a small bow with eyes lowered and right arm raised in front of her, a gesture of deference given to authority figures outside of her culture.

"Good evening, Miss Eule!" Bartholomew greeted cheerfully. "I was not aware you had a twin sister! I don't believe you've introduced us!"

"Twin...what?"

"That's nonsense, Barty!" Peter chided. "You know there's only one of her!" He paused to squint at the girl. "I think."

Rosemary looked at Glynda with wide eyes, and it took an effort for Glynda not to roll her own. "Will you please escort Professor Port and Professor Oobleck back to their respective rooms?" It was not a question. "They may need some help...walking."

"I suppose so," Rosemary's mouth said. Her eyes, on the other hand, screamed, _You have got to be kidding me._

"Hold onto them. And," _for the love of the gods,_ "don't," _under any circumstances,_ "let them start singing."

"Right?" Doing as she was told, she hesitantly took hold of each professor's arm. Glynda nearly let out a breath of relief as a great weight left her, and she was able to straighten her posture.

"When you are finished, please meet me in front of your dorm building," she instructed the girl. _You're not getting away that easy. We are going to have a talk after this._

"Yes, ma'am," Rosemary confirmed with a wince.

As the girl led the two men away, she heard Peter say, "Tell me, Miss Eule, are there two of you?"

"I'm telling you there are," Bartholomew responded.

"I wasn't asking you."

Glynda repositioned her glasses on her face in time to catch Rosemary's shoulders slump before they rounded the corner of a building. Glynda felt for her, but she wouldn't deny that she was relieved to be free of half her burden. The other half on the other hand...

"You know, I'd thought they'd never leave," James joked. She didn't dignify it with a response, informing him with her silence that they would not be continuing their conversation—or any conversation—here. Not at that very moment. He took the hint and fell silent.

Without the weight of her other two coworkers, the walk to the place where James was staying took only a handful of minutes. There were on-campus apartments reserved for staff that didn't want to make the trip to and from Vale everyday, and a vacant one had been offered to James for when he didn't want to stay on his eyesore of a ship. Luckily, it was only a short distance from the student dorms, and they were able to travel at an actual walking speed, even if it wasn't in a completely linear direction.

Without waiting for him to pull up his access code, she used her Scroll to unlock the door—she had access to every building in Beacon, including the living areas. The room was pitifully lifeless. The walls were bare, the windows curtain-less, and the furniture sparse. The bed was impeccably made, the table and kitchenette counter were empty of food and dishes, and the desk held nothing but a blank notepad. There were few personal belongings. A neatly folded uniform here, a small bag tucked away there. James had a tendency to travel light, but it appeared as if no one had been there at all.

He detached himself from her and grabbed the back of the small, wooden chair in front of the desk for support. She closed the door behind them, taking her time in turning to face him. "Go ahead, let me have it," he said. His tone was neither relinquishing nor provocative, simply expectant.

She gave him a beat and a blank stare. "I don't know what else to say. We've discussed all there is."

"So you'll do nothing." He laughed once without humor. "I see I was wrong, you have changed."

She leaned back against the door. "I'm tired of fighting, James. It's the same thing every time. All this bloodshed, and for what? We're left weak and tired with the world crumbling around us. It never changes. So I'm trying something new."

"Something new?" he echoed in bitter disbelief. "This may be new for you, but you know this is nothing new for him. It is the same thing every time, and it has been for centuries. Inaction. Your fear of fighting is what will allow the world to crumble, not the other way around."

Her shoulder blades pressed hard into the door as the insult caused her to stiffen. "I never said I was afraid of fighting!" she defended. A pause. "And this isn't inaction. This is called picking my battles. You can't just attempt to roll over everything in your path and not expect consequences!"

His grip visibly tightened on the back of the chair. "There will be consequences if you don't act now! The enemy is not going to wait for you to sit here and count cards. It will destroy everything."

"You know that's not what I'm doing. Ozpin's guardian—"

"Will fail!" he snarled. "She's nothing more than a child. They're all nothing more than children! Yet somehow the fate of the world has been placed in their hands. Ozpin's nearsightedness will be the death of them. And of all of us."

She straightened. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Do you have any idea why Ozpin makes the decisions he does? How delicate this situation is? You encourage violence and fear will take hold. We'll be the deaths of ourselves!"

He scoffed, "You sound just like him."

"I don't want to fight you, James. We're supposed to be on the same side! We need to work together."

"I thought we were!" he exploded, then immediately lowered his voice back to a bitter growl. "But apparently not."

The words stung more than they should have, and when she responded, it was with the deadly calm of a coiled snake. "You honestly believe that I am to drop everything and follow you? For what reason? You talk about trust but never show it, you let your guard down when you know our enemy is still out there, and you allow others to play you for a fool."

"I am not the fool!" he roared. The chair let out a terrified creak under the inhuman grip of his hand.

"You are turning your back on the man that has never once led you astray!" she struck back. "I refuse to abandon my loyalties in such a manner!"

"Then you are as blind as he is!" A beat. He lowered his voice again. "I'm disappointed, Glynda. I had expected that you, of all people, would understand."

The words cut again, deeper this time. "Do not make this out like I betrayed you! I'm not the one that left!" She took a slow step toward him, then another one, with palms up in a final gesture of supplication. "I'm still here, James, right in front of you! I'm here to support you and Ozpin and all the others, but I can't do that if you don't listen!"

"I am listening, but you're not seeing what's in front of you! The storm is there, Glynda. We all feel it. And I refuse to let it break."

She let her hands fall back to her sides. They were back at the beginning. Bloodshed and exhaustion, bloodshed and exhaustion—all for nothing. He still didn't understand, and he likely never would. "You're right," she said quietly. Surprise froze his features while she felt defeat creep beneath hers. Her voice, hoarse from the battle, scraped against her throat as it formed her next words, "I don't see what's in front of me. And neither do you."

His face hardened into something cold, guarded, and expressionless. Like a soldier. No. Like a machine. "I suppose so," he said stiffly.

She began to turn away. There was nothing more she could say that hadn't been said already; she was done with this. But he caught her before she could. A hand roughly grabbed her arm, yanking her so that she almost fell into his chest. The chair was no longer between them. Surprise and exhaustion left her paralyzed; she hadn't even seen him move. So she did nothing to stop him when he lifted her chin with his hand and kissed her.

The kiss was as hard and clumsy as the metal hand cupping her face, and she could taste the alcohol on his breath. He broke away before she could think to, but he did not pull back. "Come back to me," he murmured in her ear.

By that point, she had come up with an appropriate response. She slapped him. Hard. The smack rang out, filling the empty room, and he jerked back. She had hurt her hand more than she had hurt him physically, but in terms of other kinds of wounds—he could not rearrange his face fast enough to hide the mixture of shock and hurt.

She did not wait for his response. Without another word, she turned her back to him, and she walked out, using her Semblance to slam the door behind her. Being a man that insisted on actions over words, he would get the message. That she was sure of.

What he didn't get were the words she had repeated time and time again: _I'm not the one that left._

 


	5. Distance

She swiftly stalked away with only the goal of putting as much distance between herself and that apartment as possible. Anger and frustration clouded her vision to the point that she barely saw where she was going. They clouded her other emotions too—emotions she wasn't ready to acknowledge. Those emotions were directed at James, of course, but they were also turned against herself.

The worst part was that she understood where he was coming from. Did he think she liked how Ozpin had set everything up? How poor planning from centuries ago had left them relying on children to keep it all from falling? These were _her_ children they were talking about. The kids she had guided and trained. The kids she had watched grow. She didn't want to see them thrown into this situation that they would not be ready for. She didn't want to see them die. But she already had.

More than anything, she wanted to agree with James. She wanted a better solution, but his wasn't it. His planned course of action would steer the world into chaos, and they would all die, not just those they had conditioned to.

The bitter thought struck her like a knife to the heart. When had she begun to think this way? When the world had become so much bigger, and so much darker.

The flutter of wings snapped her vision into focus. A scraggly, red-eyed, black-feathered bird perched on the branch of a nearby tree. With a growl, she snatched her crop off her boot and shot a single ice shard at the lump of feathers. "Caw!" the crow cried in annoyance and launched itself off the tree. The whistling shard missed and instead embedded itself in the wall of a building with a crack. With frantic flapping, the crow flew off into the night.

Impossibly, her annoyance increased, both at the infuriating avian and at the damage she had caused to what she now recognized as the dining hall. Her heels clicked on the stone walkway as she moved to inspect the result of her foolish anger. The shard had penetrated deep into one of the building's columns, and cracks spiderwebbed around it.

Pointing her crop at it, she felt power surge beneath her skin, but she forced herself to stay her hand. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and let her emotions fall away into the silence. In the absence of noise, she could feel everything around her, how things were supposed to be and how they were. She focused on the ice shard, unweaving it until it was nothing more than dust, before grabbing hold of all the cracked pieces of stone. These she brought together, wove together, and bound tightly. She directed them back into the place where they should be and told them to stay there. And they listened.

When she opened her eyes, she barely glanced at her work. She knew it was right. Rather than waste time inspecting it, she walked in the direction of the second-year dorms to finish her last task for the night, feeling a little bit—but not much—calmer than before.

 


	6. Night Owl

Rosemary saw her before she saw Rosemary. This was evident in the way the girl pretended  _not_  to see her. Glynda spotted her sitting on a bench along the walkway to the second-year dorm building, and the girl kept her head and eyes lowered as she approached. Rosemary's Faunus eyes were too good in the darkness and Glynda's heels were too loud on the stone for the girl to truly not have seen her, so Glynda got the impression she was bracing for a storm. 

_If that's how it's going to be..._  "Miss Eule," Glynda said sternly once she had reached the girl. Rosemary flinched at the use of her last name, but remained quietly seated. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe I said that I didn't want to see you when I got back. Is this correct?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Do you have any explanation for why this is not the case?"

"No, Professor."

"Do you have anything to say?"

"No, Professor."

Glynda sighed faintly. So they were doing the "Yes, Professor/No, Professor" bit that night. There was no argument, no defense, no anything. Not a good sign. "Rosemary, look at me," she ordered. Rosemary raised her eyes for half a second, but failed to hold them. "Do you want me to get Dr. Grey to drug you again?"

That did it. Rosemary's head shot up in alarm at the threat. "No! No, you can't!" she gasped. The artificial light of a nearby lamppost danced off her green eyes, which were wide and pleading, and made them glow in the night air. "Please, it gave me a panic attack last time. I won't go through that again."

Glynda crossed her arms, but she was feeling more tired than stern by this point. "You can't keep doing this."

And the eyes were back down. "I don't know what else to do," Rosemary murmured. "I can't make it stop. I can't...I can't...I..."

"You can't afford to keep doing this, Rosie," Glynda sighed. "If something were to happen right now, could I count on you to stand by my side, or could I count on you to be eaten by a Grimm?"

"I would fight," Rosemary said weakly.

"And you would die. Lately, you have not been functioning at your best, and your progress has been declining as you refuse to sleep."

"It's not a choice," Rosemary muttered. 

"I don't like it any more than you do, but you are the last fragment of Team DSRT—"

"DSRT is not gone!" came the sudden snap. 

"Then act like it!" Glynda retorted. "How do you expect this behavior to do your team any justice? I know it's only been a few weeks, I know you need time to grieve, but I need you with me now. So you can either stop moping or you can give up and go home. You've become more of a burden than a help by this point."

Rosemary's expression mirrored the one Glynda had left James with. She may as well as slapped the girl too. She knew her words were harsh, but that didn't stop them from being true. Rosemary had always struggled with insomnia, but she had found ways to work with it. This here was self-destruction, which of course would benefit nobody. So Glynda didn't take the words back—not that she could—and changed the topic instead. 

"I assume you got Port and Oobleck back to their rooms alright?"

"Assuming they don't choke on their own vomit," Rosemary responded darkly, failing as usual to hide her annoyance. It was childish...and somehow reassuring. There was still a girl there. 

Glynda wasn't sure whether to feel annoyed, amused, relieved, or pitying. "I'll leave you with an 'I owe you one.'"

"Yep." Translation:  _Please don't ask me to do that ever again_. "Do I dare ask what that was about?"

"I would prefer it if you didn't."

For the first time that night, Rosemary raised her head and met Glynda's gaze without hesitation. Her green eyes continued to glow in the dim light, and the intelligence behind them shone brightly through. "And when is the last time you slept, Professor?" It sounded like an accusation. 

"Longer ago than I had been planning on."

"Life gets in the way sometimes, doesn't it?"

Glynda snapped her crop by Rosemary's head, causing the girl to yelp in alarm. "Mm. Keep that sass in check."

And her head was back down again. "I'll go to bed if you do," was the half-hearted reply. 

Glynda nodded and moved a foot back to indicate to the girl to stand up. "It's a start." Saul Atwell had joked once that you could lead an owl Faunus to bed, but you couldn't make her sleep. But, of course, you couldn't sleep if you didn't go to bed. 

Rosemary rose to her feet, but while she looked in the direction of the dorm building, she didn't move toward it. "I really am..." she tried faintly, "I really..."

"I know, girl," Glynda shushed her. Placing her hand on her back, she gave Rosemary a light push in the right direction. 

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Planning on going somewhere?" Instantly regretting her own joke, Glynda shook her head. "Goodnight, Rosie."

Rosemary gave her a half smile. "G'night." And with near silent steps, she padded down the path toward the brick building. 

Glynda watched her until she went inside and then turned to head in the opposite direction. Now that she knew that she was going back to her apartment, exhaustion attempted to pull her to the ground. She would most certainly keep her promise to go to bed, but a part of her wondered if she would even be able to sleep.


	7. Birds of a Feather

The next morning, Qrow knocked on her office door. Qrow Branwen  _knocked_. Glynda didn't know what to think of that. She didn't know what to expect anymore. 

From her desk, she heard Rosemary's voice drift over as the girl answered the door. "Oh. You need something?"

Qrow's gravelly voice made its presence known in the form of a playful complaint. "What? No kiss?"

"It's also proper for you to throw yourself at my feet and beg for forgiveness."

"Beg for forgiveness? What have I ever done to you?"

"Professor Port threw up on my shoes last night. I blame you."

"Hey, it's not my fault they can't hold their liquor."

"I'm not the one you need to convince."

There was a pause. Then, "Glynda, call off your guard dog, will ya?"

"Hey! Who're you calling a dog?"

"Sorry, bird."

"So racist."

Blocked from their view by a small portion of wall jutting out from the doorway, Glynda took a brief moment to put her head in her hands. She felt hungover—despite not having had a single drop to drink the night before. She felt as if she had barely slept, and half her skull pounded painfully. What she needed was to lie down, but that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. So she lifted her head and sighed, "Let him in."

"Like she could stop me," Qrow scoffed. He swaggered into the room with hands in his pockets. His faded black hair was a mess and his posture was as bad as ever, but he appeared alert and well-rested. And she hated him for it. 

Rosemary wrinkled her nose at his back before glancing over at Glynda. "Should I go?"

Glynda looked at Qrow as she gave her response. "I don't know. It depends on whether or not Qrow wants a witness."

He chuckled and flicked his fingers dismissively. "Take a walk, Rosie."

Rosemary rolled her eyes. "I'll be at the fairgrounds," she said and then walked out, closing the door behind her with a soft click. 

He eyed Glynda appraisingly. "You look worse for wear."

Instinctively, she straightened in her chair and then was annoyed that the gesture made her appear self-conscious. "I was up half the night tracking you down."

"You found me easy enough."

"That includes dragging everyone's drunken asses back home."

He raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated gesture. "Swearing this early, Glynda? You must be tired." She simply glared at him. Removing his hands from his pockets, he held his palms up. "Look, you didn't have to do that." She raised an eyebrow and gestured in the direction Rosemary had gone. He put his hands back in his pockets with a shrug. "Okay, so maybe things got outta hand, but you heard what I told her: I didn't make them drink."

"You didn't stop it either."

"How is that my responsibility?"

"How did it become mine?"

"And I told you, you didn't have to do that."

"I'm getting really tired of being the only one to play the adult around here, Qrow."

"Hey, now hold up." Stalking closer to her desk, he pointed to the wall of the room in an agitated gesture. "I'm out there day and night, risking my 'drunken ass,'" air quotes, "for this. So if you're suggesting—"

"Why did you text me?"

He stared at her, looking both annoyed and confused at her interruption. "What?"

"Text," she repeated with agitated swiftness, "a message of words sent through wireless communication. Why did you text me?"

"I  _know_  what a text is. What're you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Qrow. You knew this would happen," she snapped. His stare turned blank, prompting her to add in an irately low voice, "Last night. You knew that if you messaged me, I would come for you and we would be exactly where we are right now. Or were you really that drunk?" She paused. "You weren't really that drunk, were you?"

He stared at her for a baffled second and then nodded slowly, as if coming to understand something for the first time. "Ya know, I almost forgot who I was dealing with." He sat on the edge of her desk, opposite of her. "I may have exaggerated it a bit. I wanted to clear out of there before you and Ironwood went at each other."

_You devil_. She made a noise like a scoff. "You should've stuck around. I told him everything you did."

"Yeah, but he actually listens to you," he pointed out. 

Another scoff. "You'd be surprised."

He laughed once without humor. "Believe me, I'm not. I take it it didn't go well?"

She pushed around a few of the papers on her desk without truly looking at them. Rather than answer, she said flatly, "You're the first person I've seen today." Which she supposed was a confirmation after all. 

"Now that is surprising," he said seriously. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a metal flask. 

She shook her head, making a noise of disgust. "Why are you here?"

He pointed at her. "For exactly that reason. You're tired of playing the adult? Fine, then stop playing the adult."

What was he saying? That was impossible. "I can't—"

"C'mon," he insisted, "for five minutes...no, five seconds, give it a try. C'mon."

Not again. "We've already been over this."

"And I won, remember?"

Which is what got them into this whole mess to begin with. She gripped the edge of her desk, white-knuckled. "There's no time! How—"

He held up a finger, making her grit her teeth. "Correction: time is necessary," he said calmly. Then, "You don't like this." He shook the flask, audibly sloshing around the liquid inside. 

"Of course I don't—"

"It wasn't a question. But this," more sloshing, "is necessary."

"I'd beg to differ." Self-poisoning was in no way necessary for anything. This was ludicrous...

Now it was his turn to scoff. "It's no more self-destructive than what you're doing." He paused to look at her. "Maybe even less so."

...both ludicrous and insulting. "And what do you think I'm doing?"

"That depends on how you look at it, so I'll say everything and nothing."

That made absolutely no sense. "What?"

He shook his head. "We can't all be like you, Glynda. And, at the moment, I don't wanna to be like you. Powering through everything, taking blows in stride—it's superhuman and, frankly, unhealthy."

_Smack!_ Her hands hit the desk as she shot to her feet. "Who are you to talk about what's health—!"

_Crash! Thud, thud, thud, crash!_

Both of them jumped, whirling around in time to see several books fall off a shelf after a glass bookend that had shattered on the floor. Glass went everywhere, sparkling like cliche diamonds in the carpet, and the books threw themselves open to embrace the destruction as their pages crinkled and ripped and bent. It was as if someone had swiped the shelf clean in anger, but no one had moved from the desk. 

Neither said anything, although Qrow's expression was uncharacteristically sheepish. It was partially because of this uncharacteristic expression that Glynda remained silent as she grabbed her riding crop and instructed the bookend and books to repair themselves and return to the shelf. The objects did so, and the room returned to normal within seconds. 

After several long beats, Qrow said with something akin to appreciativeness, "I should stick around you more often."

Glynda sank back into her chair and allowed her head to fall into her hands, her headache having intensified to the equivalent of a hammer pounding repeatedly against her skull. "Please don't," she muttered. 

He chuckled. "That's probably for the best. I'm not the healthiest person either."  _Not for those around me_ , was implied. 

It sounded like a joke, but she knew better. She lifted her head, but was slow to lift her gaze. "You're wrong about me," she murmured.

He rolled his eyes. "Here we go..."

"I don't take blows in stride." She felt his eyes swing to her in surprise, and she raised her own. Bright green met dull red. "No more than you do." 

He looked at her as if she had suddenly become a different person. Then came the slow nod again. She suspected he was nodding at his own thoughts, not what she had said. 

"You sound a lot like Ozpin," she added. 

He grunted in acknowledgement. "I guess I do. You do to, ya know. A good chunk of the time."

"So I've been told," she said quietly. The thought had been tugging at her for a while now—a strange, uncertain creature, like a howl in the darkness. Was it a dog or a Beowolf? And where in that darkness did she stand? "Is it possible that's a bad thing?" she accidentally said aloud, but she didn't try to take it back either. 

He appeared oddly amused. "Well, if it is, we're all dead," he joked. "Just remember, doubt and division—that's what she wants. We can destroy ourselves or we can go down fighting. You think that would be a no-brainer, but some people just don't seem to get it."

"I know." But he would have no idea how desperately she had needed to hear that. 

Or maybe he did, for he said casually, "Knowing and remembering are two different things." A beat passed while he unscrewed the cap to his flask, but while he looked in it, he didn't drink. Instead, he said, "I didn't come here to criticize you. I wanted to remind you that we're not that different. But I suppose you might take that as an insult."

Self-depreciation did not become him, and it was another blow she couldn't take into stride. "I don't. Although I'll admit it scares me," she cracked. 

He laughed. "And I'll admit that I needed to be reminded of some things too."

"You're not superhuman either, Qrow. As much as you may try."

"But I take breaks. Another key difference."

She shook her head. "Why the sudden concern?

"I just told you, I needed to be reminded of some things. And Ironwood sure ain't the biggest help." He hopped off the desk. "But I'll stop wasting your time. You probably wanna get back to work." His tone was still faintly mocking. 

"No, I want to lie down. I have a horrible headache and would prefer it if you didn't disturb me until it went away. Your presence makes it worse."

Backing toward the door, he gave a small bow. "Yes, ma'am," he said archly, clearly pleased with himself. As he sauntered toward the exit, he raised his flask and said over his shoulder, "You should join me for a drink sometime. Or anytime really. Apparently I'm always drunk. Ha!"

She didn't give him the benefit of a verbal response, but she did smile at his red cape as it vanished out the doorway. He didn't close the door behind him, but she didn't complain or get up to close it herself. Her gaze fell to the work in front of her. Her Scroll and the papers on her desk refused to come into focus, and her head continued to throb with a vengeance. With a sigh, she documented her place in her work, stood up from her desk, and left her office. It was time for a short break.


	8. A Beautiful Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I wanted to include a more serious side to this slightly ridiculous (okay, really ridiculous) story and because this is set before the end of Volume 3, it was easier for me to use an OC for character development instead of a canon character. However, this means major spoilers for anyone that is interested in reading the book about my own Beacon team, Team DSRT. If you want to avoid spoilers, skip Chapter 8! If you don't care about spoilers or OC teams, read on! If you hate everything I write, why are you still here?

That night, well over an hour after sundown, Glynda found Rosemary asleep in the library. The vast building appeared empty when she walked in, and its numerous towering shelves of books were silent. Had Coco Adel not pointed her in this direction, she would've assumed that no one was there. She did find life, however, on the second floor. At a table hidden in a corner, Rosemary rested with her head buried in her arms, her long brown hair fanning out across her shoulders and back. Her reading glasses and a closed book lay untouched on the table beside her. 

 _Well, at least she does sleep_. Glynda almost felt guilty about waking her. Almost. 

Keeping a firm grip on her shoulder, she gave the girl a gentle shake. As expected, Rosemary startled, so Glynda squeezed her shoulder hard and forced her to stay in the chair when she attempted to bolt upright. "Easy. It's me."

Several moments passed before Rosemary blinked the panic from her eyes, and even then they remained unfocused. "Glynda?" She put a hand to her face, as if she could rub the sleep away. "Is it late?"

"It's still before curfew." Glynda released her and stepped back. "Come, walk with me."

"What?" Rosemary looked at her uncertainly. "Where are we going?"

"For a walk," Glynda repeated simply. Without waiting for the girl to stand up, she began walking toward the stairs, and when she heard no move to follow her, she said, "Well? Hurry up!"

A chair harshly squeaked and footsteps thudded behind her as Rosemary scrambled to catch up. 

Outside, the cool night air carried the nip of fall in it, with winter's bite lingering not far behind. Already a number of orange leaves littered the walkways, appearing dead and black in the darkness, like fires that had gone out with the sun. The sky was clear that night, and it vainly displayed its belts of hundreds of twinkling stars. The moon hung above all—a shattered white crystal ball containing the past, present, and future rolled into one. Some of its pieces drifted down to embrace the dark guardian that was Beacon Tower. Natural white met artificial green to form a glow that was otherworldly, magical, and chilling. It was quiet, peaceful, but also cold and distant. 

Glynda's heels and Rosemary's sneakers clicked and padded on the stone walkway, bringing about the only sounds to be heard, besides the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. After a while, Glynda stopped feeling glances from Rosemary, and the girl's gaze wandered elsewhere. It was easy to imagine that it would always be like this—a simple walk in the evening—with nothing to fight or fear. But then they wouldn't be here. And here they were. 

With a flick of two fingers, Glynda parted the great doors of the school just wide enough for two people to exit into the courtyard. The great stone statue greeted them—two mighty Huntsmen triumphant over two lower Grimm. Usually she admired the statue, but tonight, the Grimm skulking beneath the Huntsmen seemed more like a threat than a victory. 

As she passed the statue, she heard only her own footsteps; the soft padding had stopped. She glanced back to see Rosemary frozen in place, her feet cemented to the ground like stone. "Professor," the girl quietly insisted. Her features were tired and wary. 

Glynda nodded. "That's alright. We can stop here." Walking back over to the statue, she lowered herself to the ground to sit crosslegged with the cool stone against her back. Rosemary stared at her, still frozen. "It's after curfew, Rosemary. Take a break."

"But I thought you said—"

" _Sit down_."

Rosemary hesitantly sat down at her side, pulling her knees up to her chest as if cold. "You can tell me to sleep all you want. It's not gonna do anything," she muttered. 

"I know. That's why I'm not." Glynda looked up at the stars, trying to figure out if they were friendly or mocking from their distance. After the moment had stretched out for long enough, she said, "I can't remember if I've told you this before, but I've always admired how your culture regards death. Rather than fear it or despise it, you accept it—embrace it even—and wear it for others to see." Rosemary didn't answer, so Glynda continued with an amazed laugh woven into her words, "I remember the first time I watched you face death. You didn't run. You didn't even cry. You stood still and talked about life and the stars. I had never seen anything like it."

"I did cry," Rosemary admitted unabashedly. "Later."

"You cried because you wanted to. You've never been one to fear your emotions. So, what changed?"

Resting her head on her knees, Rosemary hid her face in her arms. "I'm a disgrace," she murmured pitifully. 

For a hesitant second, Glynda put a hand on her shoulder. "No, you're normal," she stated and then withdrew her hand. "It is self-preservation to do everything you can to avoid feeling when things get to be too much. I know because I do the same thing. But there comes a point when self-preservation turns into self-destruction. That's when it's better to face it than to let it destroy you."

Rosemary didn't lift her head, so her voice came out muffled, "What if it destroys me to face it?"

"Well, then you can destroy yourself or you can go down fighting. Bit of a no-brainer really. But easier said than done." Glynda almost laughed as she repeated Qrow's words, which would not have at all been appropriate for their conversation. Looking back to the stars, she said quietly, "Would you believe that, lately, I've been scared: about what's going on, what will happen in the future. And it's led me to some...irrational actions."

Rosemary uncovered her face. "You're the one who told me that's it's okay to be scared. It's how you act in spite of it that matters."

"Right." Although everyone's behavior had been questionable lately. "I may not have a team, but luckily I do have people to keep me straight. You do too." Glynda looked directly at the girl, who looked away. "Rosemary, I want you to talk to someone. If not me, then your friends. Or another teacher: Port, Oobleck, Grey, even Ozpin—any one of us will listen."

"I know."

"Knowing and remembering are two different things." She had to fight back a smile again, but the fight quickly became easier as she prepared to say what she had been leading up to: a necessary blow. "Another thing I remember," she began slowly, "is when Saul died, after you went to your dorm, I went back to my apartment and sat at my piano. Just sat there. Nothing more."

A choked gasp clawed its way out of Rosemary's throat, and she quickly hid her face again. Her entire body trembled, not from crying, but from the fight not to. 

"What I also remember," Glynda added, "is when I was having that horrible day, and you convinced him to give me a hug."

Rosemary gave a tear-strangled laugh. "That was awesome."

Glynda chuckled. "The worst part was I couldn't be mad at him. Otherwise he would never let me go."

Rosemary laughed again—a pure, real sound. "No one ever could." With a sniffle, she lifted her head and wiped her eyes. "Gods, I'm tired of crying."

"Then laugh. Someone told me once that's the best medicine. Although I never believed him."

"You were his favorite teacher you know."

"I know." Although she had never believed that either. 

"Knowing and remembering are two different things," Rosemary added cheekily. 

"Now that I didn't know," Glynda laughed, and Rosemary laughed with her. 

Glynda glanced back at the stars. Whether they were friendly or not didn't matter. All that mattered at that moment was that it truly was a beautiful night. 

Something she had overheard Ozpin say abruptly came to mind:  _Time has a way of testing our bonds, but it's nights like these that can help keep them stronger than ever. Nights like these are ones we'll never forget_.

A beautiful night indeed.


	9. Months Later

"Get down!"

Glynda dove behind a fallen column as whistling Nevermore feathers struck the concrete where she had been standing with fatal speed.  _Crack, crack, crack, crack!_ The feathers imbedded themselves deep into the stone. She rolled, coming up into a low crouch, and kept her head down. That had been too close. She hadn't even had the time to summon a shield. 

"Report in!" she yelled, fearing for casualties of her failure. 

"Oobleck!" 

"Port!"

"Bramble!"

She let out the breath she had been holding as several more names rang out. That was everyone. 

Another ear-splitting screech shattered the air, like a million nails on a chalkboard. Whipping out her crop, she shot up from her hiding place in time to freeze the next round of feathers midair. The death-black feathers hovered, seemingly suspended by nothing. 

"Oobleck!"

"On it!"

With a flick of her wrist, she flipped the feathers around as a fireball shot over her head. They ignited, and she thrust with her crop to send the now flaming weapons back the way they had come. Their sword-sharp stalks pierced the hovering Grimm in its neck, chest, and stomach, and the monster slammed into the remains of the dining hall with a thunderous crash. What was left of the windows shattered and even more columns collapsed in a domino-like cacophony. The Nevermore disintegrated in a hiss of smoke, leaving behind the smell of burnt tar. 

She doubled over, gasping as she struggled to catch her breath. Everything burned—her muscles, her lungs, her throat. They had been at this since midnight...of the night before. That had been nearly twenty hours ago, and they had made no progress in gaining ground at Beacon. Every step forward led to another step back. 

The dining hall. The Grimm had wrecked the dining hall  _again_. There was no point in fixing it anymore, especially as distant howls warned of another wave's approach. 

Where was the replacement shift?

With a painful effort, she managed to straighten. "Everyone alright?"

Bartholomew, who was right next to her, responded amiably, "Nothing more than a scratch!"

Peter poked his gray head up from behind a unidentifiable piece of rubble. "My mustache is a tad singed. A small tragedy," he sighed. 

Slowly, other heads began to appear from behind places of cover and other calls answered her. Some minor injuries, but nothing serious. She nodded to herself, relieved. 

Jan wandered over with his broom slung casually across his shoulders. "Nearly taken out by a Nevermore," he whistled. "Good thing the media weren't here for that one."

"Oh, I'm sure they would've loved it," she said darkly. 

"I'm sure they would. Then they could stop showing that shot of you that keeps goin' 'round," Jan joked. "They really need some new footage. That one shows you at such a bad angle."

She brushed her tangled hair out of her eyes and readjusted her dirty glasses. That would've been any angle at that moment. "Who knows? Maybe they would've gone for Port's battle-scarred mustache instead."

Laughter rang out across the barren battlefield, only to intensify at Peter's exclamation of, "Don't insult the mustache!" Although he was laughing loudest of all. She smiled at the too rare moment. 

"I don't believe it," Jan chuckled. "Was that a joke, Goodwitch?"

"I'm slowly learning to take the moments as they come."

"Next shift's here!" came the sudden cry. All heads whipped around to eagerly observe the newcomers that would become their replacements for the night, but mutters of dismay and confusion arose as only two people visibly approached. 

"This can't be everyone," Glynda said when Peach and Grey reached her. "Where are the others?"

Emily Grey was unusually subdued as she gave her explanation. "A herd of Goliaths charged the northern border. Nearly every Huntsman and Huntress in reserve was called in to assist security. We're all that's left to spare."

"Another herd?" Bartholomew echoed. "How is it possible there are so many?"

More mutters ran up and down their lines. If morale was measured with a thermometer, then theirs had just dropped to frigid. 

"Well, it is what it is, I suppose," Glynda sighed, as if she was only mildly disappointed by the news. In reality, her muscles felt ready to let her collapse to the ground. "Peter, Barty, you've been here longest. You two switch out."

The two men exchanged a glance before regarding her with concerned expressions. "If I may point out, Glynda," Bartholomew said, "you've been here just as long and have been working twice as hard as any of us."

"And your Aura level must be near depleted by now," Peter added. 

"We insist that you be one of those that switches out," Bartholomew finished. So they had come with a prepared speech. Nice try, but...

"If that's the case," she said calmly, "then I suggest you hurry back so I can take my turn."

"That's not—" they started. 

" _That_ ," she interjected, "is an order."

Emily raised her metal hand. "As a medical professional, I strongly advise against it."

"I'll take that into consideration," Glynda said dryly. While her staff continued to exchange unhappy glances, none could argue with her. She had already outranked all of them before Beacon fell, and with Ozpin gone, she was solely in charge. That and she was too stubborn. 

Bartholomew and Peter didn't push any further. She could see the exhaustion shading every part of them, as she knew it did her. "We were planning on making a short trip to Patch," Peter said tiredly. "Is there anything you'd like us to tell Tai?"

"Tell him I'm threatening to drag him off that island." Then, more quietly, "And tell him to hang in there. We're all hoping for the best."

They nodded understandingly. "Very well. We'll be back by tomorrow morning," Peter confirmed. 

"And you better not drink anything!" she called after them as they walked away. They laughed in response, which was not at all reassuring. 

Howls sounded again, closer this time. "Ready, troops!" Jan declared jokingly. Uncertain laughter followed. Glynda tightened her grip on her crop. 

Glancing up at the remains of Beacon Tower, she felt irony strike her as it did every time she saw the frozen dragon. Now it was the stone Grimm that stood over the Huntsmen. How far they had fallen. 

Howls again. Emily eyed her warily. "If you die because of this call," the doctor said, "I will track you down in hell."

"Hmph." Glynda smiled. "Care to make that a bet?"

Emily's concern visibly increased. She probably thought that the sleep deprivation and adrenaline had gone to Glynda's head.

Glynda took a deep breath in an effort to hide how much she was trembling from exhaustion. This was self-destruction, but not in some skewed interest in self-preservation. This was self-destruction in the interest of the preservation of others. Too many people had fallen with Beacon. Huntsmen, students, civilians—all dead, dismembered, scarred, or missing. Many had been conditioned to die of course. Many  _she_  had conditioned to die. But she would give her own life without hesitation before she saw another one of her children hurt. 

If a moment came for her to take a break, then she would take it. She was stubborn, not suicidal. But for now, she would let others rest; she would keep on fighting. 

She looked up at the sky. It was a clear night. The stars looked down, as indifferent as ever to the bloodshed and exhaustion that was soon to come. 

Yes, she would keep on fighting—fighting for the moments where they could watch the stars. Fighting for where she could watch her children fondly remember what had been and hopefully dream of what could be. If she failed, if she never got to see the result, then so be it. She had gone down fighting. 

The howls materialized in the darkness. The Wolves had come.


End file.
